[Marxism] We Matter. You Don't!

[Jon Flanders]

Or Why Who the F... Cares Who You Vote for if you don't live in Ohio. US
elections are in the final analysis a rigged game in a farcical circus.
The whole country holds its breath waiting on the collective wisdom
of a few rust bucket hamlets in rural Ohio.

I rather hope Obama wins the popular vote while McCain ekes out an
electoral college win. That would really make things interesting! 

In the absence of a mass workers party, we probably might just as well
throw darts at the ballot to pick a candidate.

Here's a question for the list. How long would you wait in line to cast
a ballot? Would you stand out there for eight hours like some folks
evidently are? 

Personally I just want this over with so we can figure out what to do
next given the lay of whatever land is left.

Jon Flanders


PERSPECTIVE | BOSTON UNCOMMON
We Matter. You Don't!
THIS WAS A HISTORIC CAMPAIGN IN SO MANY WAYS. TOO BAD FOR YOU WE HAD ALL
THE FUN HERE IN OHIO.

By CONNIE SCHULTZ  |  November 2, 2008

Every four years, Ohio becomes the center of the political universe. Oh
sure, there was a lot of chatter about Florida in 2000, but how many
times did you hear people complain that Florida wouldn't have mattered
if Al Gore hadn't pulled out of, you guessed it, Ohio?

All this attention on my home state is flattering, but its fickle nature
is a teeny bit insulting. We're a fascinating people all the time, not
just in presidential election years. Only in Ohio, for example, can you
find a giant Jesus rising out of the ground on Interstate-75 and then
drive less than one hour south to visit the birthplace for modern Reform
Judaism. That's serious diversity, but that's not what most people think
of when they hear "Ohio." Someone says "Ohio" and a lot of folks
immediately think "battleground state." Then again, some people hear
"Ohio" and think "Iowa." Must be all those vowels.

Here we are, though, on the brink of electing a new president and, once
again, we're a national obsession. We can't hiccup without someone
taking another poll here. Happens during every presidential race, and
we're a little hurt that most of the time you just fl y right over us,
but we welcome the renewed interest. We've had four years to grow lots
of opinions that we're just dying to share with the media.

Last month, Ohio was the hand-wringing center of attention in lengthy
stories in The New Yorker, The Washington Post, and this newspaper. The
state hosted two days of NPR's Talk of the Nation, and our state capital
was the choice for CNN's focus group of independent voters who were
asked to weigh in on the second presidential debate. The majority of the
group said Obama won, but when asked who they would pick if they had to
cast their vote that night, a slight majority said McCain. Can't explain
it, and I was born here. We're just full of mystery.

Ohio is also the butt of a joke in a new episode of The Simpsons. On
Election Day, Homer tries desperately to cast his vote in Ohio for
Obama, but every time he presses the button the machine tells him he
just cast another vote for McCain. Homer, acting like your typical Ohio
State football fan, begins wrestling with the machine, which swallows
him up and spits him out like a wasted wad of tobacco. That scene would
be a lot funnier if I could only forget the bumper sticker I saw on a
car in Manhattan shortly after the 2004 election: Have you hit an Ohioan
lately? That hurt.

Speaking of New Yorkers, there are a lot of them volunteering in Ohio
right now, so this is a great time to find a parking space near that
Broadway show you've been aching to see. In fact, you can't walk 6 feet
without meeting someone from another state who's dropped everything to
work on the race here. I've noticed that Boston folks have a habit of
canvassing Cleveland neighborhoods in their Red Sox caps. Talk about
poking the bear. Most of the time, though, Midwestern manners prevail,
if you don't count the nasty exchange outside Obama headquarters in
Cleveland's Shaker Square. Only three people saw it, though, and I, for
one, will take that memory to my grave.

As always, Ohio is one of the top states for the number of political
ads. In one recent week alone, the candidates combined spent at a rate
of nearly $24,000 every hour on TV ads. Most of them are pretty negative
in a state where the unofficial motto is "God don't like ugly." This may
explain why so few people are making way for oncoming traffic lately.
It's also why you can't stand in line for five minutes at the local
pharmacy before total strangers start complaining about the negative
ads, quoting them from beginning to end with descriptions of every last
graphic. But nobody grouses that this is no place to be talking about
politics, because no such place exists in Ohio.

We are a battleground state, but we are also called the heartland, which
probably explains why my neighbors and I are still speaking. Six
households nearby put the same candidate's signs in their yards on the
same day. They know there's no way anyone in our house is supporting
their guy or their judgment, but they also know we won't let that get in
the way of the curbside chats and all-hands-on-deck chases when one of
the dogs gets loose.

We're neighbors before the election, and we'll be neighbors after it.
Life will go on here in Ohio, even if we're the only ones who will
notice.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain
Dealer in Cleveland. Send comments to magazine at globe.com.